When You Realize You’re Martha, Not Mary… and how Jesus meets us there, too

I’ve been hearing the story of Mary and Martha everywhere lately. In church. On podcasts. In random places I wasn’t even looking for it. And every time I do, I feel this little sting in my chest.

At first, I was like, “Okay cool.” And then I was like, “…Wait. I think I’m Martha.”

She’s the one buzzing around the house making sure everything is done—food made, table set, dishes done, floor mopped. And meanwhile? Mary is at Jesus’ feet, completely present. And Jesus doesn’t scold Mary for not helping. Instead, He gently reminds Martha that being with Him is the better thing.

Cue the ouch.

*But* He Didn’t Scold Martha… He Invited Her

The part that gets me every time is that Jesus didn’t snap at Martha. He didn’t roll His eyes or tell her to chill. He wasn’t annoyed. He just… saw her. Saw how overwhelmed she was. How hard she was trying to make everything just right. And then He said her name—twice.

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one.” (Luke 10:41–42 NIV)

He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t condemning. He was inviting.

Inviting her to breathe.
Inviting her to pause.
Inviting her to let go of perfect and just be with Him.

That’s what He wants for us too. Not because our laundry doesn’t matter. Not because the to-do list disappears. But because we matter more. Our hearts. Our presence. Our peace.

I’m constantly doing. My kids want to play and I catch myself saying, “I can’t, I have to clean the bathroom.” Or “I’ll play later, I just need to answer these emails.” Or “Let me finish this blog post real quick—wait, I need to swap the laundry—actually hold on, did I ever text that client back?”

I’m always chasing some version of “perfect” that I know doesn’t exist… but I still try anyway. I scramble to make the house look right, the schedule flow smoothly, the kids feel tended to, the business stuff get done. And when it’s not all done? I feel like I’m failing. Like I’m not measuring up.

It’s like I’m always scrambling to keep all the plates spinning. (Ironically, half of them are paper plates because I still haven’t done the real dishes.)

And when the house is messy or work’s piling up, I get so mad. Frustrated. Not just at the mess, but at myself—because in my mind, if I were just better, I’d have it all together.

But here’s the truth that keeps whispering back to me:
I was never meant to be perfect.

That’s what grace is.
Jesus is the only one who ever walked this earth perfectly—and He did it so I wouldn’t have to. He fills the gap. And yet… I still find myself trying to earn something that’s already mine.

I don’t want to keep rushing through motherhood trying to check every box and still feeling like I’m falling short. I want to be present. I want to sit at His feet. I want to learn how to let the undone things stay undone sometimes.

Grace for the messy floors.
Grace for the fast food dinner.
Grace for the 47 loads of laundry that are now one giant mountain on the guest bed.

I’m trying to remember that Jesus didn’t scold Martha. He didn’t tell her she was wrong or selfish or sinful. He didn’t turn His back or make her feel small.

He simply invited her to something better.

He saw how overwhelmed she was. How much pressure she was carrying. How hard she was working to do everything “right.” And instead of correcting her, He said her name—twice.

“Martha, Martha…”

He didn’t want her to stop being a doer. He just wanted her to pause long enough to see the bigger picture. To know that she was allowed to sit. Allowed to rest. Allowed to choose peace. Because He was already there. And He didn’t need her performance. He just wanted her.

So I’m Learning to Give Myself Grace

I’m not saying I’ve figured it all out—I absolutely have not. But I’m learning. And I’m working on giving myself the same grace that Jesus freely gives me. It’s not easy. I’m trying to learn how to sit with Jesus instead of sprinting through my day. To be present with my kids instead of constantly caught up in what’s next. To to let myself laugh at the mess. To to sit at His feet, even if I’m still in my stained up leggings because I forgot to put away the laundry.

Even when I forget to reply to that email.
Even when I yell.
Even when the bathroom still hasn’t been cleaned… a week later.

Because Jesus didn’t ask me to be Mary instead of Martha.
He just asked me to come be with Him.